


Take Me Some Place

by Cassy27



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Follows certain scenes from the series, Incest, M/M, Then I go my own way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-05-26 13:10:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6240592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassy27/pseuds/Cassy27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Philippe returns from the war a changed man. Then again; everything has changed, including his relationship with his brother, the king of France. He shouldn’t desire him, but he does, and Louis seems to desire him, too. It is wrong and dangerous and, if caught, beyond scandalous, but Philippe has always been a man to walk the fine line between wrong and right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at a Versailles-story. I don't know what got into me! Obviously, there is incest in this story, so if that's not your thing, you should stop reading now. If that is totally your thing, read on! Thank you, Greenloki, for editing this for me! What would I do without you?!

# 1

There were no words to describe the party his brother was throwing. No, there actually was one; extravagant. Dozens of nobles had lined up to greet the king, all wearing their most beautiful and most expensive clothes. Jewels adorned not only their necks, but their ears and wrists, too, and Philippe dared to assume that, should the sun have been shining, he would have been blinded by sheer amount of diamonds alone.

Behind the Royal Tent, where Louis and his fellow court monkeys were located, several musicians played a song, but Philippe barely heard a single note given all the chatter. Nobles were gorging on food and wine, and their tongues were already loosening up. Chevalier was without doubt having the time of his life. Philippe’s gaze momentarily sought out the blond man, but he gave up after an instant. Too many people surrounded him for Philippe to distinguish any faces, so he didn’t bother.

When a waiter walked by, he lifted two glasses of wine from the man’s serving tray. Then he made way to the Royal Tent, eyes transfixed on his brother who wore a brand new outfit this evening. Cassel, the duke who was making the king’s life difficult, stood before Louis, the eternal scowl on his face only having intensified these past few years. Philippe couldn’t understand what they were saying, he was too far away, but he could see the tiny smirk playing around his brother’s lips. Whatever words were being exchanged between them, Louis was savouring each and every single one.

Fireworks blasted through the sky.

Philippe halted, his hands suddenly tightening around the glasses he held. People gasped and turned, all in awe of the bright lights that soared through the air. Philippe couldn’t bring himself to turn. His gaze locked onto the form of his brother as he reminded himself to breathe. And to not grip the glasses of wine so tightly, for he feared they might actually shatter.

Finally, Cassel turned and stalked away, and Philippe grabbed the opportunity to ascend the few steps onto the stage that was the Royal Tent, and demand his brother’s attention. He halted directly in front of him, and the sounds of fireworks disappeared into the background as he gazed into Louis’ eyes. They were bright, always had been. Blue, like the sky during a summer day. Philippe had often been jealous of them, had always been mesmerized by them. His own were dark, so dark they were nearly black at times. He truly could be the dark cloud in front of the bright sun.

“I thought he’d never leave,” he said. Louis smiled at him, with his lips pressed meticulously together. A king simply doesn’t smile grandly.  “Drink with me.”

Louis’ smile didn’t falter as he accepted the glass and, for three long seconds, their gazes did not unlock. Philippe’s smile was timid, calculated, but in a different way than Louis’ smile. They always had been as different as day and night – Louis being the day, of course.

The noises of the fireworks grew louder again, to Philippe’s dismay.

He turned to Louise de La Vallière, her ginger hair laying elegantly across one shoulder. She glared at him, though anger wasn’t the only thing he caught in her features. There was shame, too. Sadness, even more so. He had been cruel to her, had touched her where only his brother had touched her before, which had been an appalling thing to do, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. He looked at her and felt a surge of heat fill him – and not a good kind of heat. What fuelled it, he didn’t know. He disliked her.

“You look splendid this evening,” he said to her.

Before she could reply, before she could call him out on his cruelty, he turned away.

“I’m grateful you’re here, brother,” Louis said.

“And for once, I’m inclined to believe you, brother.” He took a seat next to Henriette, his wife. Louis’ lover. Philippe’s grip tightened around the glass once more. Was there anything in this world that truly belonged to him, that he didn’t have to share with the king of France? Chevalier perhaps. Louis had never expressed any interest in that man, though he had made it abundantly clear that he didn’t enjoy the idea of Philippe sharing his time with him. Perhaps that was why he shared so much of his time with him. At least, that was how it had started.

It was different now. Chevalier was one of the few who surrounded him because of who he was, not because of who his brother was.

More fireworks were sent off into the sky, and with a shaking hand, Philippe sipped from his glass of wine. He didn’t understand what was happening, why breathing was becoming so irrationally difficult all of a sudden. His gaze flitted across his surroundings again. Chevalier should be here. He should be at his side as Louise was at Louis’, but all his gaze found was Bontemps, the eternally loyal valet of the king. Only his face wasn’t his.

Philippe squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to regain control over himself, but when he opened them again, Bontemps was still not Bontemps. Instead, he wore the face of a soldier, with a broken nose, bleeding lips, and missing eyes.

Philippe couldn’t breathe.

“Brother?”

That was Louis. He was here, nearby, but Philippe couldn’t bring himself to seek him out. He could hardly hear him. Screams echoed around him. Philippe sought out the origin, tried to find the people in pain, but all that he saw were nobles feasting and enjoying a light-spectacle. Only it wasn’t a spectacle. The light came from cannons being fired and explosions ripping limbs from soldier’s bodies. Red covered his vision. Red flames and red blood. That was all he could see. Death and destruction.

He blinked and willed it all away, knowing that it was in the past, but nothing changed. The sounds didn’t fade. The brightness only overwhelmed him. Screams drowned out any noises that were actually there.

The tremor in his hands had spread to the rest of his body, and Philippe felt pain. It was everywhere. He couldn’t remain still.

Jumping up, he hurried away from the Royal Tent. Nobles parted for him and stared at him, but he ignored them all. It was easy, because he hardly saw them. All that he saw was a battlefront and all that he heard were the sounds of people dying. Smoke filled his nostrils and he smelled gunpowder. It was impossible, he knew, but he smelled it anyway. He smelled blood, too.

He needed to get away.

Nausea caused his eyes to water.

“Brother.” Louis sounded somewhere far away.

But he was there.

Eyes falling shut and the contents of his stomach threatening to leave him, Philippe collapsed onto his knees, and the coolness and wetness of the grass beneath the palms of his hands caused a shudder to run down his back. He was in the garden of Versailles. He was home. He was safe. His brother was with him.

A sob escaped from him.

He felt so damn powerless and pathetic.

Louis knelt down beside him. A small part of him wished he was Chevalier.

“On the field, I saw a man, young like we are.” He didn’t know why he was saying what he was saying. The words left him without his permission and no matter how much he wanted to stop talking, he couldn’t. “He carried his brother in a sack over his shoulder.” Tears streamed down his face, and Louis could see. “He told me he had made a promise to their mother. He was there to take him home.” With eyes shining brightly, wet with tears, Philippe dared to look his brother in the eye. “Would you do that for me, I wonder.” It was a confession, a fear rooted so deeply inside his heart that it physically pained him, and now he finally allowed Louis to see. “I would, I know, but you?” A shaky breath left him. “I do not know.”

Louis shifted. Anger flashed across his face. “You think because I am king that I am not also a brother?” His voice sounded tight, unpleasant, but at least it was close and Philippe knew it was real. “That I have all that I want and yearn for nothing?” He grabbed Philippe’s shoulders and forced him to stand, to look at him. “Even a king cannot live the life that he wants. It is you who lives those moments for me. It is you who truly lives the life yearned for by a king.”

“And this is the life you yearn for?” Philippe pulled himself away from Louis. He always did know just what to say, like a true king knowing just how to manipulate his nobles and get them to do his bidding, but he was not one of Louis’ nobles. He was his brother and he had no need for pretty words. “Are you telling me you are jealous of me? Look at me!”

“I am!” Louis’ lips clenched together and his gaze turned to the sky. “Do you think I don’t see your pain? This is why I didn’t want you to go to war.”

“As if you have been trying to protect me,” Philippe spit out. He was in no mood to deal with this. He just couldn’t, not as screams echoed in the distance. This was why he’d preferred Chevalier. He would have quipped something and, if that hadn’t worked, he would have kissed him. Philippe would have let him, because Chevalier was his.

“I ended a war for you,” Louis breathed.

Philippe felt like he had been slapped in the face. “Don’t.” He spoke the word so softly, but harshly, that he doubted Louis had heard.

But he had. “It’s true.”

“You don’t get to do this.” His head shook and more tears invaded his eyes. He was tired of the lies, the deceit. He was tired of being used. “You chose your own glory over mine. I could have won you the war, but instead you ended it before it had been properly fought. Then you returned home and you were hailed a hero. The king goes to the front and makes peace as only a king can.”

“A brotherless king then.”

“I would have made you proud!”

“You have!” Louis inhaled sharply then, settling again.

Philippe didn’t want him to. He wasn’t done raging yet. “Then why did you take my honour? My pride?”

“I took those so you could have your life instead.” Louis closed his eyes and rubbed the creases of his brow with his fingers. “I wasn’t lying when I said a price had been put on your head. I couldn’t risk losing you.”

“I thought you’d be glad to be rid of me,” Philippe said, huffing out a humourless laugh. “I bring shame to your court, do I not? I served my purpose when you married me to Henriette, so you could keep her close, and then I mingle with the likes of Chevalier. You’d be glad to be rid of him, too.”

Louis’ hands curled around his shoulders again and, this time, Philippe couldn’t pull himself free. “You speak of madness.” He seemed genuinely appalled.

He grinned grimly. “Philippe, the mad Duke of Orléans.”

Louis pulled him forward and pressed their lips together.

Philippe froze, every muscle inside his body locking into place, as Louis’ lips moved against his, warm and slightly wet. And pleasant. Eyes closing, Philippe opened his mouth and welcomed the warmth that was his brother, welcomed the sudden need crushing him and numbing every sense he possessed. He no longer heard screams, no longer smelled blood or gunpowder. He no longer felt pain.

Louis tasted of wine and macarons.

The kiss ended too soon, but left Philippe breathless nonetheless.

“You are my brother and you are more dear to me than you ever thought possible.” Louis’ fingers curled tightly around his younger brother’s shoulders. “And you are the only thing worth laying down my life for, do you understand?” Louis stared into his eyes, hard and unrelenting. “So yes, Philippe, I would. I would travel across any battlefield to find you and bring you home. That is my promise to you.”

“I think …” Philippe swallowed heavily and took in the sincerity burning behind Louis’ bright blue eyes. “I think I believe you.”

# 2

The man had stepped off of the ledge.

When Philippe closed his eyes, he could still hear the snap of his neck. He had tried to stop him, had hoped to save him, but he’d been powerless. Like his brother. Like every other noble who had witnessed the event. Chevalier had been present, too, though there was nothing in his gaze to betray that he felt distraught by the man’s death.

The man. He did not even know his name. He never would.

“The builders are unhappy,” he said, drawing Chevalier’s attention to him. “Can you blame them?”

Chevalier had light eyes, too, like Louis, but different. They were more green than blue, and when he turned them to Philippe, they were filled with confusion. “The builders?” He repeated. “Should I now pay attention to builders?”

“One killed himself in front of us,” Philippe said, disgusted by Chevalier’s response. It spoke not only of disinterest, but of apathy, too. Indifference. It was a disease shared by many nobles, but he hated to see it consume Chevalier. Though he shouldn’t be surprised, really. Chevalier had never been a tactful man. At times, Philippe did wonder why he loved him as much as he did.

“Ah, yes,” Chevalier sighed. He dropped down onto the divan beside him. “Though I try not to remember that particular moment in your brother’s tour of his garden. I try not to remember that I saw Pascal de St Martin eating you up with his eyes either.”

“You are jealous,” Philippe said with a roll of his eyes.

“Do I not have reason?” Chevalier questioned.

“Perhaps.” Philippe’s thoughts were already gone from Pascal, however, and were now firmly focused on Louis. His lips tingled at the memory of their kiss, and the tips of his fingers ghosted where he had tasted him, where he had felt his breath on his skin.

Chevalier was watching him with narrowed eyes. “Can I expect a threesome?”

Philippe’s hand shot out and hit Chevalier’s shoulder. “You and your vile thoughts.”

The pot calls the kettle black. Philippe looked down at the book in his hands and sighed. He wanted to close it and toss it across the room. He doubted Chevalier would even ask him why he tossed it if he did. It was part of why he liked being around him. The man didn’t ask too many imposing questions. And he was a great lover. He was caring and gentle when Philippe wanted him to be. Would Louis be the same, he wondered? His eyes fluttered shut and shame engulfed him.

“A penny for your thoughts,” Chevalier whispered into his ear. He sat so close that Philippe could feel heat radiating from his body. “Will they turn me on?”

Philippe glared at him.

“Alright.” Chevalier righted himself and flattened imaginary creases from his vest. “You are not in that kind of mood. Understood. All because a builder killed himself?”

“All because I could have helped him, help others, but my brother isn’t letting me.” Tossing the book aside, Philippe stood and began pacing the floor. “I could be useful, but instead I am confided to sit in a corner and shut up. I am rotting away!”

“My love–” Chevalier began.

“For once, do not tell me I am imagining things,” Philippe warned him.

Chevalier pouted his lips. “I have never once told you that you were imagining things,” he argued with an aloof wave of his hand. His green eyes tracked Philippe’s movements. “I completely agree, to be honest. The king does side-line you. I’m surprised you are only now seeing that.”

“I have seen it a long time ago.” He halted and looked at his lover. He sat so casually that it caused frustration to boil his blood. Nothing ever seemed to irk him. “But I turned a blind eye. I am tired of doing so. A man is dead who might not have been, if Louis had permitted me to act.”

“And you would have done what?” Chevalier questioned.

“I would have talked to him!” Only conviction lay in his voice.

“It wouldn’t have helped.” Chevalier pushed himself up and took a step forward. Sadness lingered in his gaze. “I know you like to believe that you could have saved that man, but no one could have, not even the king. So stop beating yourself up over it. You have no fault in the matter.”

“How easy,” Philippe sighed. He carded a hand through his hair. “No one could have done anything, so no one is to blame.”

“Let’s go outside.” Chevalier danced around Philippe, only to halt in front of him and take hold of his hand. “You could use some fresh air. Your awful mood is bringing me down and I will not have it.”

“And it is all about you, isn’t it?” Philippe bit down on his lip.

“I’m glad you see the light,” Chevalier quipped.

Philippe didn’t know why he allowed the man to drag him outside, but the truth was that he did feel better. He felt distracted. He supposed that was what many nobles did. They distracted themselves from the pain and misery of the common people, but the distraction only worked for a moment. Philippe couldn’t forget. He couldn’t un-hear the snap of that man’s neck, because he knew the pain he felt. He felt it, too, and Chevalier would never understand.

And neither would his brother. Louis might be king, and the weight of the world might rest upon his shoulders, but he would never know what sounds war produced, what colours and scents. He would never know the lasting pain of wounds, both mentally and physically. He had not seen the man carrying his brother home in a sack. But he had. And more.

And no kiss could erase it.


	2. Chapter 2

# 3

They were shouting. Philippe couldn’t remember how it had started, but he supposed that it was normal. They were brothers, after all. Brothers fought, perhaps not constantly, but frequently. Louis was a stubborn fool who refused to accept his help, who defended himself against enemies that were not there, and Philippe couldn’t get past the thick shield he had built around him.

“How is it possible that you are blind to those who want to help you?” He questioned angrily. Louis stood by the fire, wearing only a thin, white night-gown. The smell of sex surrounded him. Philippe was merely glad the same smell didn’t surround Henriette.

“What you propose is not help!”

Louis tried to move past him, out of the room maybe, but Philippe would not have it. For once, he willed his brother to listen to him, in any way he could. Grabbing his hand and refusing to let it go, he forced Louis to look at him and hear his words. “Not everyone is trying to knock you down,” he said, each word pushed from him with strength. “If you stopped attacking, for a moment, you might see it. Let others aid you in your decisions. You cannot do it all.” No matter how much Louis believed that.

“The business of government is no business of yours,” Louis snapped back. He even went as far as pointed a threatening finger in his direction.

Philippe felt his throat turn dry. “It could be if you let it!” He only wanted to help him, so that the weight of the world would not crush him. So that he could help those who experienced the same pain he experienced.

“Please, stop!” Henriette clenched a pillow between her hand, holding it in front of her.

“You would never do that, I know that.” Philippe forced himself to suck in a deep breath, and for one brief moment, he could actually see the torment inside his brother. He might never have gone to war, but he had pains of his own. They might be different, but they carried the same weight, and Philippe only wanted to help his brother as Louis wanted to help him. “You think that I oppose you, that the world opposes you, but you are mistaken–”

“Stop,” Henriette tried again.

Philippe’s gaze snapped to his pale-looking wife, a woman he had to share with the man standing before him. “For heaven’s sake, eat something!” He shouldn’t direct his anger at her. He wasn’t angry with her at all.

“What’s the matter?” Louis demanded.

“I am expecting a child!” She dropped the pillow and revealed her swelling belly.

All words left him. Philippe stared at her, at the child inside of her, and found that he could hardly believe it, despite the proof being right in front of him. Henriette was pregnant. With his child. Though not really. His dark eyes turned to Louis who did not look away from the English princess. _His_ child. Possibly. Probably. Not even the child of his wife would be his. Only Chevalier was truly his. He repeated it in his mind, again and again.

Philippe wanted to tear Louis’ gaze away from her. To him.

He needed his brother to look at him.

He truly was the mad Duke of Orléans, for when his wife confesses to carrying a child, all he can think about is how it is another creature in this world who will have Louis’ unconditional love, another creature who Louis will love more than him.

“Congratulations, brother,” he whispered, because he didn’t have the strength nor the will to speak up.

Then he fled the room.

# 4

When he had left, the sun had barely peeked over the horizon. Now it stood high in the sky. Three hours might have passed. Or five. He didn’t know and he didn’t care, though his absence had surely been noticed by now. Chevalier would have woken up with an empty spot beside him. At first, he would have thought nothing of it. Only after an hour or so would he have started to search for him. And now others were surely looking for him, too.

Was Louis? Probably not. As the king of France, he had other business that required his attention, more important business. And then, of course, there was Henriette. Philippe had been unable to sleep after she had revealed her condition to him and his brother. Every time he’d closed his eyes during the night, he saw her in labour, with Louis at her side, holding her hand, and smiling grandly when the child was born, its cries bringing him joy. Louis’ child, a child of France as Louis so kindly called all of his bastard children. Henriette was probably thrilled to be carrying the king’s baby, too. It was no secret that she loved Louis more than she loved her husband.

Was that why he had left so early in the morning, needing air to clear his mind, to think? Was that why he felt as vexed and frustrated as he did? Because she loved Louis as much as she did and everyone knew it? No one knew the intensity of his love for his brother. No one _could_ know. Yet his love for him was threatening to burst from his skin if he did not do anything about it soon. It was already bleeding through the pores of his skin.

His eyes fluttered shut when he remembered their kiss.

He was started to think that his brother had played a cruel joke on his expense. Louis had always enjoyed being the strongest, and Philippe had been living through a particularly fragile moment on the evening of the garden party. Louis had toyed with him, had enjoyed seeing his frailty and had added another crack to it. Louis the Great remains great while his little brother sinks deeper into a dark and dank hole of despair. How much had he laughed afterwards? Had he told Henriette? Had they laughed together?

The sound of hooves drumming against the ground echoed in the distance and grew closer with each passing second. Philippe turned away from the edge of the cliff, tearing his gaze away from the palace in the distance – a palace filled with nobles who were, without doubt, already gossiping about his _disappearance_. He imagined Chevalier coming up with the wildest explanations since he always did have a predilection for drama.

Through the trees, Philippe spotted a horse. Only one, which surprised him. He righted his back and already tried to come up with an excuse to get a few more hours of peace and quiet in the woods. Yes, there were wolves, but he hadn’t come unprepared. He carried gun on his body.

His hair was what Philippe first recognized, followed by the expensive clothes and polished shoes. Philippe groaned and looked at the palace again, having no interest in locking gazes with his brother to find disappointment and irritation. Behind him, he heard the horse come to a halt, followed by feet hitting the ground none too gently.

A soft breeze rustled his hair.

Louis came to stand beside him and stared at the palace of Versailles in the distance, too. “My men have been looking for you everywhere,” he said, a calm air to him, despite the quick rise and fall of his chest. “I knew they wouldn’t find you, though. But I found you.”

Philippe rolled his eyes. “Hooray for you.” He didn’t look at his brother as he realized that coming here might have been a mistake. Louis always came to this particular spot in the woods, too, whenever he needed to think. Of course he would have come to search for him here!

The king turned to him. “Why are you behaving like this?”

“Do I not have reason?” He barely restrained himself from spitting out the words.

“I thought you would be happy with the news.” Louis frowned, genuinely confused, and Philippe felt the undeniable desire to shake some sense into his brother. “How long have you and Henriette been married now? Five years?”

“Six.”

“Six years and finally you will have a son or daughter, a child to–”

“Will you stop?” He took a step away from the edge of the cliff. Then another. He needed distance between him and his brother as anger caused his fingers to itch. He couldn’t afford to hurt his brother, no matter how much he wanted to. “You and I both know that child isn’t mine. The entire court knows it!”

Louis stared at him, but Philippe couldn’t read the thoughts that flitted through his mind. “Maybe they wouldn’t have known if you spent a little more time in your wife’s bed than you do in your lover’s.”

A laugh burst from his lips. Philippe didn’t know why and he certainly didn’t like the sound of it, but he couldn’t hold it in. He could either laugh or scream. “May I remind you who forced the two of us to marry in the first place?” He questioned sharply. “It is you who wanted to keep her close and since you were unable to marry her yourself, you made me do it. That is how it is and how it will always be. I sacrifice my own freedom to please you.”

“I did you a favour!” Louis shouted. “Henriette was your friend, had been since we were but children. Your marriage to her was a kindness on my part. I could have married you to God knows who, but at least this way, you actually like your wife and you can still screw that imbecile of a man.”

Philippe produced a tight-lipped smile. “I had no desire to marry anyone,” he said. “That way I could have warmed any bed I wanted.”

“That is no one’s freedom,” Louis sighed.

“Except yours.” Anger deflating from his system. Why, he didn’t know. Philippe lowered himself onto the ground and crossed his legs underneath his body. His hands he folded in his lap. “You are the king of France. You can do as you please.”

Louis sat down beside him. “You know fully well that’s not true.”

He did know, but he enjoyed to toss that lie at his brother’s head as much as he could, because while it was indeed a lie, it still felt true from time to time. It seemed Louis always got what he wanted. Louise de La Vallière had been young and beautiful, desired by many, but Louis had easily seduced her into his bed. Henriette had warmed his bed since they had come to understand what love was. And now there was Madame de Montespan. Then again, Philippe knew he could bed whoever he wanted, too. Only he stuck with Chevalier. His loyalty was his personal decision.

“The child will carry my name,” he said softly. It felt odd saying it. “I will be its father, but I don’t know what that entails.”

Louis wrapped an arm around his knees and chuckled warmly. “I fear no one does, dear brother.”

Philippe gazed at him, at the way Louis’ hair flowed behind his back, the way the corners of his lips quirked upward ever so slightly, the way his cheeks had gotten a healthy pink colour. And when Louis looked back at him, with those impossibly bright eyes, Philippe could not hold in the question that had been burning his tongue for days now already.

“Why did you kiss me?”

The faint smile playing around Louis’ lips instantly faded. He looked down and inhaled sharply. “Because I thought you wanted me to.”

Philippe shook his head. “What I want rarely matters to you.”

“What you want matters more to me than you think,” Louis replied. His eyes lifted to meet Philippe’s from underneath dark lashes. “How can you still be blind to it all? You wish to go to war and I let you. When I thought your safety was endangered, I took you away from there. When I thought you wanted me to kiss you, I did, because you were in pain and I wanted to take it all away.”

Philippe hummed, taking in his brother’s words. “So it was pity.”

“You twist my words,” Louis snapped.

Philippe looked straight ahead again. “We shouldn’t even be discussing this.”

“Because it is wrong?”

“Yes.”

“But I am the king of France,” Louis said. “I will decide what is right or wrong.” His hand brushed down Philippe’s cheek. He made Philippe look at him, into his stubborn blue eyes, before closing the distance between them and pressing their lips together. It was a light kiss, sweet almost, but it left Philippe’s entire body burning and aching for more. “Did that feel wrong?” Louis asked when he pulled away again, only a little. His warm breath made it near impossible for Philippe to continue breathing.

“It felt …” Philippe swallowed heavily. “Not enough.”

Louis grinned. “My thoughts precisely,” he said, and kissed Philippe again.

# 5

His fingers had fisted his brother’s vest while Louis’ hands had wandered down his chest, towards his stomach, and further down. That was when the sound of hoofs beating against the ground had forced them to break apart, Fabien Marchal having found them, along with a horde of guards trailing after him. Philippe had tried not to think about how he looked like – breathless, with slightly swollen lips, and a hardness in his pants. Either Marchal had not noticed or he had remained wisely silent about it. How Louis had managed to look as composed and calm as he did, had been beyond Philippe.

By the time they returned to the palace, his appearances had softened, but that didn’t mean the fire burning inside his veins, boiling his blood, had diminished. He didn’t speak a word as he advanced through the halls of Versailles, despite sensing dozens of eyes on his form. They could all think whatever they wanted. Philippe didn’t care.

No guards were stationed outside his chambers, which was for the best, because it allowed him to throw open the heavy oaks doors and burst inside. It released some of the energy raging inside of him, but not all. Every inch of his skin itched. As the doors fell shut behind him, Philippe sought out a pair of light green eyes. Chevalier stared at him from where he stood by the window, slightly bewildered and in need of an explanation, but Philippe wouldn’t grant it to him. He simply walked towards him, nothing but determination in his step.

“Where have you b–?”

Philippe kissed him – though he wouldn’t define it as a kiss. Their lips crashed together and his nails scraped down the side of Chevalier’s neck. _Mine_ , he thought, _completely mine_ , and he deepened the kiss even more. Chevalier moaned against his lips, momentarily giving into whatever it was that his lover craved, before he pulled back and frowned.

“What has gotten into you?” A frown creasing his brow. “You disappear to God knows where and now you’ve returned and you act … absolutely bizarre.”

Philippe, sucking in a deep, stabilizing breath, stepped back. Then he took another step back, though his gaze never unlocked from Chevalier’s. “Bedroom,” was all he said before he turned and entered the adjoining room. Behind him, he could hear Chevalier’s following him eagerly, and Philippe smiled, feeling victorious.

The moment the doors closed behind Chevalier, Philippe pulled him toward the bed and began tugging at his clothes. He didn’t care if he ruined Chevalier’s expensive, pretty clothes and tore the fabric apart, and apparently, neither did Chevalier. The man eagerly pushed him down onto the mattress, settled between his legs, and began unlacing his vest and shirt.

“Whatever has gotten into you, I like it,” Chevalier grinned.

Philippe’s hand curled around the back of Chevalier’s neck and pulled him closer until their faces were only inches apart. “Less talking,” he said, each word punctuated by a feverish lust. “More fucking.”

Chevalier’s grin grew. “Yes, Monsieur.”

When Chevalier’s shirt hung loosely around his shoulders, Philippe tore it from his body. His nails dragged down Chevalier’s chest and, much to amusement and delight, Philippe could feel his lover’s heart racing beneath his touch. His hands moved to unlace Chevalier’s breeches, which wasn’t usually an easy feat, but he had experience in the matter. As soon as he could, he wiggled a hand inside Chevalier’s linen breeches and wrapped his fingers around his hardness. Philippe felt his breath catching inside his chest and his mouth watered, but he wasn’t interested in giving his lover a blow-job. It wasn’t what he needed, and right now, he was all about taking what he wanted.

Chevalier removed the rest of their clothes, and Philippe found his skin felt unhealthily hot against his lover’s. Too much heat coursed through his veins. Too much shame. Philippe forced the moment on top of the cliff with Louis from his mind. Chevalier could feel the heat, too, however, and momentarily halted. His hands folded around Philippe’s shoulders, delicately.

“Are you ill?”

“No.” Without looking, Philippe outstretched a hand and found a vial on top of the nightstand beside the bed. They always kept it close, their passion often reaching high levels at any given time during the day, so they were always prepared. Philippe pressed the glass vial into Chevalier’s hand and sent him an intense look. “Fuck me.”

“Alright,” Chevalier said with a shrug of his shoulders. “How can I ever say no to you?” He dipped his fingers into the oil inside the vial, before he dipped his now slick hand between Philippe’s thighs.

Philippe’s heart raced beneath his ribs. Breathing became painful when he felt the first of Chevalier’s fingers enter him. His back arched off of the bed and his eyes fluttered shut. His length leaked onto his stomach. “ _Yes_ ,” He moaned, but found that it wasn’t enough. Chevalier was being too careful to his liking. “I’m not a damn virgin, so don’t treat me like one.”

For a brief moment, nothing happened. Philippe felt Chevalier’s doubting eyes on him, but he refused to lock gazes with him. It had been the right decision, because Chevalier pushed another finger inside him, preparing him and stretching him. Philippe’s hands twisted into the sheets beneath him. The smell of sex already hung heavily in the air.

“If anyone knows you’re not a sweet and innocent virgin, it is me,” Chevalier said. His voice sounded low, thick with want. “The things you have already done to me … They are positively sinful.” He kissed the long curve of Philippe’s neck, his tongue licking at the pulsing heartbeat.

“God, _yes_ ,” Philippe gasped.

Chevalier withdrew his hand too soon, leaving Philippe open and empty. He didn’t like it, but before he could make his dislike known, he felt the tip of Chevalier’s length press against his entrance instead. Any words lying on the tip of his tongue melted away. The burn felt deliciously good and Philippe felt ready to burst. When Chevalier began pounding into him, hard and fast, just as he’d wanted him to, wave after wave of pleasure crashed into him and overwhelmed him. It overpowered him. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes, but he kept them firmly shut, forbidding them from falling, forbidding Chevalier from seeing them.

He forbade himself from reading his own mind, too. He refused to think, because then he would only think of his brother. He would imagine Louis’ hands on his body instead of Chevalier’s. He would imagine it was Louis stretching him open and fucking him. _Damn_. Philippe’s hands sought Chevalier’s, but he only found his arms. He clung to them like he had never clung to them before, and then he came. The smell of sex intensified.

Chevalier followed not too long after, spilling inside Philippe. A layer of sweat covered their skin and the sound of heavy breathing filled the air. Chevalier rolled off of Philippe and lay down on his back beside him. Finally, their breathing evened out, and finally, Philippe dared to open his eyes. The ceiling above him was hazy, tears obscuring his vision. He blinked and forced them away. One rolled down his cheek.

“I can’t pretend that I don’t know what this is about,” Chevalier said softly, breaking the silence Philippe would have liked to last a bit longer still.

Wiping the tear away, he dared to look at his lover lying beside him. Their shoulders touched. “Everyone knows what this is about,” he replied and turned his gaze back up to the ceiling.

“Your wife’s pregnancy.” From the corner of his eye, Philippe saw Chevalier pout his lips, seemingly weighing his words. It was utterly uncharacteristic of him. Philippe rolled onto his side and shuffled a little closer to his lover. “Your wife who is expecting your brother’s child.”

A frustrated sigh escaped him. “What did I say about talking?”

“Less of it,” Chevalier said. “And more fucking, but we have done that. I would like to talk now.”

“There is nothing to talk about. A child will be born and it won’t be mine.”

“Who says?” Chevalier turned onto his side as well and propped a hand underneath his head. As he looked at his lover, his drew gentle circles against Philippe’s stomach with the tip of his finger, where Philippe’s skin was still sticky with the result of their passion. “For all intents and purposes, it _will_ be your son or daughter, because Henriette is still _your_ wife.” He leaned forward until his lips brushed against Philippe’s. “It is alright to covet this, my darling.”

Chevalier didn’t know what he was talking about. He did covet this, but for an entirely different reason. It wasn’t something he wanted to share with Henriette, no matter how much he loved her, but because he wanted to share this with his brother, but couldn’t. He was trapped.

“To covet something is dangerous,” he said, a weight falling on his chest.

“Yes,” Chevalier replied thoughtfully. His fingers did not stop drawing patterns onto Philippe’s skin, and he hated to admit that the soft touches felt rather pleasant. “One would say that would make us weak, giving our enemies something to exploit. So tell me, who is your enemy in this?”

Philippe didn’t like that Chevalier could be deceitfully perceptive at times. “My brother is thrilled.” His hand carded through Chevalier’s slightly damp hair. “He has loved Henriette since the day he has met her.”

Chevalier’s green eyes widened. “And you haven’t?”

“My love for her is different.”

“Yes, that it is.” Chevalier’s hand folded around Philippe’s hand and brought it to his lips. He kissed the back of it. “You like men, so lucky me,” he smirked.

Angrily, Philippe withdrew his hand. “You make a joke of it.”

Chevalier rolled his eyes. “Not at all,” he said, only sincerity lacing his voice. Philippe felt inclined to believe him. “I see this pains you and I dislike it. Only I fear that you are making a bigger deal of this than it really is.”

Philippe returned to lay on his back. His hands folded beneath his head. “Henriette carries the bastard child of the king of France. There can’t be a bigger deal than this.”

“But what is it that you really want?” Chevalier leaned onto his elbow and gazed down at his lover. The smirk playing around his lips had only grown. “You forget, my darling, that you are still the brother of the king. What you want, you get.”

“Believe me,” Philippe sighed, the image of Louis’ hands exploring his body blurring any other thought. “That lies in the forefront of my mind.” He no longer wished to discuss this, the weight pressing down onto his chest intensifying. “We should clean up before dinner.” He sat upright, but was halted by Chevalier’s hand gripping his wrist.

“Must we?” Chevalier sat up, too, and leaned forward. He nuzzled the side of Philippe’s neck. It tickled, and a laugh burst from Philippe’s lips. “I rather like the way you smell right now.” His hand trailed down Philippe’s stomach, until his fingers reached the soft hairs above his stirring length. “Round one came and went pretty fast, don’t you agree?” He kissed Philippe’s bottom lip and gazed into his dark eyes. “How about a somewhat slower round two?”

“Alright,” Philippe smiled, echoing words his lover had spoken earlier. “How can I ever say no to you?”


	3. Chapter 3

# 6

The air in the room smelled clean, clinically so. Claudine, the woman Louis had come to trust with his life and with the lives of others, had departed not too long ago, relaying advice to Sophie, the lady Henriette called upon for … whatever it was a princess needed to be done. But now, it seemed the princess would need little done, yet Sophie sat on the edge of her bed, her dark, worried eyes focused on nothing but her lady. Philippe was beginning to think his presence was forgotten. He didn’t mind.

The silence dragged on, became a strange mixture of boredom and anxiety, while Philippe gazed at his ill wife lying in bed. She hadn’t moved in hours it seemed, a deep sleep rendering her immobile. Claudine’s advice was that she stayed in bed for at least a week. She had much to recover from, both physically and mentally.

Finally, Henriette stirred. From where he stood, he couldn’t see her face, but he could picture it clearly: deep lines drawn around her eyes, an unhealthy shade of grey colouring her cheeks, and lips as white as marble. And yet she would still be beautiful. It was a gift God had bestowed on her.

“Has the king visited me?” Her voice sounded soft and delicately fragile.

Her words cut him like a knife, and Sophie could tell. Philippe hated himself for it.

“Tell him I wish to see him,” she continued, barely audible.

But Philippe heard her all too clearly. Sophie’s dark eyes turned to him, and with them, Henriette’s, too. Surprise filled her sick features, her light eyes widening ever so slightly, like she didn’t have the strength to do much else. The corners of her lips tugged upward into a small, pleasant smile, but Philippe felt unmoved. He still felt the knife cutting into his chest.

“His Majesty is attending to matters of state,” he told her. He sounded ice-cold. “But I am sure his thoughts are only with you.”

Henriette didn’t seem affected by his coldness. The timid smile around her lips remained firmly in place. She always looked so sweet, even when she wasn’t. “I didn’t see you there.” She spoke with her unmistakable English accent, something she could never hide. “Will you come and sit with me?”

Philippe pushed himself away from the low cabinet he’d been leaning against. “I’m pleased to see you haven’t forgotten your priorities.” His words struck his wife like a slap across the face. Her smile vanished instantly. She looked a little less sweet. “Good day.” Then he left.

# 7

This part of the palace was always quiet. Philippe liked to come here when his thoughts were making little sense and the noises the nobles produced where giving him a headache. It was why he hadn’t retreated to his own chambers. Chevalier would have been there, with his incessant questions and mindless remarks. He had no need for that right now.

A dull ache had formed near his temples, and Philippe rubbed them with his fingers, as if he could rub the ache away. He couldn’t think. _Please tell him I wish to see him_. The king’s love was a treasured item and Henriette received it so freely that she had forgotten just how precious it was. Closing his eyes, Philippe remembered when they had been only children. He and Louis had fought quite literally for Henriette’s attention, for her love. Now she was his wife, but felt like his rival. It was petulant to feel jealous. Louis had always had countless of lovers and he always would.

Then a child had been cast his way. A test. That was how he’d come to view it. Later, an opportunity. Philippe had hoped in vain.

“I knew I would find you here.”

He didn’t turn as the king of France entered the small chamber, despite etiquette demanding it of him. He listened to Louis’ approaching footsteps while keeping his gaze firmly ahead; on the hundreds of flowers in the garden. When Louis came to stand beside him, he, too, gazed out into the garden. Jacques was watering the orange trees.

“Why are you here?” Philippe asked, unmoving. “Your mistress has asked to see you.”

“I visited Henriette.” Louis turned away from the window, his bright blue eyes instantly finding him, but Philippe refused to meet his gaze. His attention remained on the soldier-turned-gardener. “She has told me to find you. She’s afraid she has hurt your feelings.”

A humourless laugh left him. “Since when do my feelings matter?”

“You know that they do.” Louis sounded offended. “But I don’t understand. Are you upset that Henriette has lost the child?”

For the first time since Louis found him, Philippe looked at him – glared at him. “Is it permitted?” He asked, his voice razor-sharp.

Louis easily met his glare, unimpressed. “I thought you didn’t welcome it.”

“I didn’t,” Philippe admitted. He looked back at Jacques who was telling other gardeners what to do. He didn’t know why Louis trusted the man so much. There was nothing special about him – no royal bloodline, no specific skill a king could use, not even a memorable achievement on the battlefield. But apparently he was loyal and that seemed to be enough for the king of France. His loyalty to his brother would never be enough, though. “I changed my mind,” he continued. “I saw myself in a garden, the child playing between hundreds of flowers.”

He saw a head full of dark hair hopping between the rows of bushes Jacques kept meticulously trimmed.  “I could practically feel the heat of the sun upon my skin. And you stood beside me.”

Louis’ gaze on him felt like fire, consuming him.

“We could have shared this.” Philippe’s voice had dropped significantly. “Not as king and his lesser brother, but as equals. We would have loved the child both. It would have brought us further together. _Our_ child.”

“That is what you wanted?” Louis asked.

“Not at first.” Philippe sighed and lowered his head, his eyes falling to the floor. He didn’t know why he was telling Louis all this. “But a certain someone whispered into my ear that it was alright to covet this.” Another void laugh left him, softer this time, lacking energy. “Now look what has happened.”

Louis’ blue eyes narrowed, then understanding dawned upon him. “You believe you are being punished.”

“Yes.” A plain answer.

“By who? God?”

Philippe whipped around to face his brother. “Does He not have reason?” He asked, heat in his words. Panic. Yet he took a step forward, closer to Louis, until they shared the same air. “You stand before me and all I want is for you to kiss me, to love me, but you are my brother. It is wrong.”

“I want it, too.” Passion filled the king’s light eyes, darkening them. He appeared confident. If he did indeed want this, too, then he would have it. He was the king of France, after all. He always got what he wanted. “God wouldn’t permit me to feel this if He thought it was wrong.” His smaller hands curled around Philippe’s and held them tightly. “We are not like the others, Philippe. We don’t play by the same set of rules the nobles do.”

Philippe’s eyes fluttered shut, and he clung to Louis’ hands like he clung to sanity itself. “Then why was the child taken from us?”

“I don’t know,” Louis sighed. “But it is not a punishment. I feel it in my heart.” He brought one of Philippe’s hands to his chest and placed it where his heart was located. Philippe could feel the strong and steady beat of it. “Trust my heart,” Louis whispered to him.

Only now did Philippe open his eyes again. He met Louis’ determination with hesitancy. “I will,” he found himself saying. He didn’t know why. “I trust your heart.”

# 8

The sun had set below the horizon a while ago and servants had come to light the candles. Philippe hadn’t moved from where he lay, on the divan, with his head in Chevalier’s lap. He held a book in his hands, but he couldn’t even remember the last sentence he had read. His thoughts had drifted elsewhere – to Henriette. Six weeks ago, she had suffered a miscarriage. As Claudine had instructed, she hadn’t left her bed for seven days. Then she had slowly returned to the public life. At first, she had re-joined him to dinner – much to Chevalier’s dislike. After, she had retreated to her bedchamber again. Then she had attended the games one evening and won ten thousand francs from Rohan. Now she walked around the palace again, smiling, always politely greeting other nobles who still offered their sympathies for her loss.

No one had ever offered their sympathies for his loss.

But Philippe had moved past it. He was done feeling sorry for himself. He was done pitying himself. It was such an ugly feature to possess, too, especially for the brother of the king. So Philippe had grieved the loss of a child he had never known and decided that it was for the best. Perhaps God hadn’t punished him, as Louis was so utterly convinced of, but there must have been another reason. Perhaps the child would have been born with a sickness. Perhaps God had protected them instead of punishing them. They were the highest amongst those with royal blood, after all. If God wanted to protect anyone, it would be them. Or so Louis had said last week.

Chevalier’s hand carded through his dark hair. “Where are your thoughts?” His voice was soft. In his other hand, he held a cup of wine. “You haven’t turned a page in over an hour.”

“And you only notice now?” There was a smile playing around Philippe’s lips. It had been a while since they’d enjoyed a quiet evening together and they should enjoy it while it lasted. Henriette could appear in the doorway at any given moment. Then the mood would be broken, because it was no secret that Chevalier didn’t like her. It was nice to know that the man could be jealous where it concerned him. Chevalier didn’t like to share.

“I was lost in my own thoughts,” Chevalier said.

“Oh, really?”

“Yes.” Chevalier’s hand brushed against Philippe’s cheek, the gesture kind and sweet. “I was thinking we should go for a ride tomorrow. The weather is lovely and it would be nice to get out of the palace for one afternoon. I feel like I am suffocating.”

“We went for a walk only this afternoon.”

Chevalier waved his words away. “That doesn’t count. We didn’t even leave the gardens and you spent half the time talking to Jean.”

“Jacques.” Philippe laughed. It was true that he had gotten distracted along the way, though. He had heard so much of the gardener, knew that his brother trusted him, and he had wanted to discover for himself. He understood now. Jacques was a kind man. “But alright,” he said. “We will tell the stable boys to prepare our horses in the morning. Tomorrow afternoon, my attention shall be entirely yours.”

“Lovely.”

They fell into another comfortable silence. This time, Philippe did read, though the light from the candles was barely enough to illuminate the words on the pages. But everything was quiet, which didn’t happen often. His brother disliked quiet evenings in the palace. He liked to keep the nobles entertained, because it kept them from thinking too much.

“It seems your wife won’t be stopping by tonight,” Chevalier said after a while.

“I’m sure you’re heartbroken about it,” Philippe replied, amused.

“You speak as if I don’t like your wife.”

Philippe lowered his book and gazed up at his lover, neck craning. “That’s because you don’t, my darling.” When Chevalier set his cup of wine to Philippe’s lips, Philippe drank from it and let out a soft, pleased sigh after. “I like how jealous you are of her,” he continued. “It makes me feel desired.”

“I am not jealous of your wife,” Chevalier sounded absolutely aghast. “I consider her to be a dear, dear friend of mine. In fact, I have been meaning to ask about her health. She has been through so much lately. Is she alright?”

“She is exceptionally alright.”

Chevalier groaned, disappointed.

Another laugh burst from Philippe’s lips, but before he could speak, before he could make another joke or comment, the door to his chambers burst open and a dozen guards streamed inside. Pushing himself away from Chevalier, Philippe jumped up onto his feet and threw his book aside. “Au nom de Dieu!” He cursed loudly. “What on earth is going on?”

“An attack on the king’s life, Monsieur,” one of the guards spoke. Philippe recognized him. His name was Nicolas Grantaire and he worked for Fabien Marchal. He could be trusted. “They entered the palace earlier this evening. My orders are to protect you.”

His heart raced inside his chest. “Assassins?” The word was filled with disbelief.

“Fabien Marchal protects the king,” Nicolas explained. “They found two men so far. They suspect a third is hiding near the kitchens. The palace is in lock-down.”

Philippe’s throat felt unnatural dry. “Is my brother injured?” Behind him, Chevalier only now rose from the divan, his movements slow and careless. Lazy. When he came to stand beside him and placed a hand to his shoulder, Philippe violently jerked away from him. His attention remained fixed on the elder guard. “Tell me.”

“The assassins didn’t get into his bedchamber. The king is safe.”

“There you have it.” Chevalier darted around Philippe, until he stood directly in front of him. “You are worried about nothing, darling. Fabien Marchal is doing his job, as are these men, and everyone is safe. Can we return to our evening now? We were having such a lovely time.”

Philippe angrily shoved Chevalier aside. “I want to see my brother.” He took a step forward, toward the door, but half a dozen guards stepped into his path. They all but unsheathed their swords. Philippe’s gaze was drawn to their hands resting onto the pommel of their swords.

“Our orders were clear, Monsieur,” Nicolas said, determination in his voice. “You are to remain here and we are to protect you. We can only do so if you obey these orders.”

Philippe turned. “I don’t have to obey Marchal’s orders,” he snapped.

“These are not Marchal’s orders.” Nicolas lowered his gaze to the ground. “They are your brother’s, Monsieur.”

The guards took their place by the doors and windows and Nicolas went out to get an update on events. Begrudgingly, Philippe sat down on the divan again. His book lay on the other side of the room, discarded, but he didn’t move to pick it up. Reading was out of the question. His mind flitted to an evening a few months ago. There had been an attempt on the king’s life, too. Men had been found in the village, sent by Willem of Orange. The entire palace had been locked down, but Louis had demanded to see his brother.

Tonight, it seemed, was entirely different. Louis had ordered him to stay, without information. He didn’t have a clue as to what was happening beyond his chamber and it was driving him mad. The only reassurance he found lay in the fact that the king was unharmed. His brother was fine.

Chevalier picked up the book, dropped it onto the table, and sat down beside him. “Are we still going riding tomorrow?”

Philippe didn’t grant him an answer. He kept his gaze firmly ahead, focused on absolutely nothing.

Chevalier sighed heavily, dramatically. “Funny how one man can ruin everyone’s evening.” He studied his nails.

Last time, men had been caught in the village. Now they had been caught inside the palace. They were getting closer. Where would they be caught next time? Inside Louis’ bedchamber? Next time, it might be too late. Philippe felt the bottom of his stomach shift when he thought of an assassin hurting his brother, killing him.

Lips pressed against his shoulder. He felt them through the cotton shirt he wore. In all the commotion, he had forgotten he was only half-dressed, not having expected visitors – not having expected a lock-down with a dozen guards around him. Slowly, Philippe looked sideways and watched Chevalier press another kiss to his shoulder.

“What on earth are are you doing?” He asked with narrowed eyes.

“I’m trying to save our evening,” Chevalier replied. The third kiss he planted against Philippe’s collar-bone. Then he tugged at his lover’s sleeve, exposing his entire shoulder. He kissed the side of his neck. “Do you mind?”

“Actually, I do,” Philippe said. Yet at the same time, he didn’t move to cover his shoulder again or stop Chevalier from planting more kisses against his sensitive skin. Chevalier knew just where to kiss him. A shiver ran down Philippe’s back. “In case you’ve forgotten, there are twelve guards with us.”

“Eleven,” Chevalier corrected him. “Nicolas Grantaire hasn’t returned yet.”

“That is still eleven too much,” Philippe protested.

Chevalier stood. “Then let’s retreat to our bedchamber where there are no prying eyes.” He extended a hand for Philippe to take. It was almost a romantic gesture. “Come on, my darling. Let me spoil you.”

Philippe considered Chevalier’s proposal, but a smile easily curved his lips upward. He laid his hand into Chevalier’s and allowed the blond man to pull him up to his feet. It would be nice to be distracted. “Then spoil me,” he smiled.

# 9

Peace had returned to the palace. The guards had left a while ago – Philippe had heard their retreating footsteps, followed by the closing of doors – and silence had settled around him. But not for long. Chevalier lay asleep beside him, snoring and, occasionally, muttering something in his sleep. Philippe couldn’t sleep. He lay on his back, staring up at a dark ceiling.

The air was heavy to breathe in and smelled of sex. Or perhaps _he_ smelled of sex. A thin layer of sweat still covered his skin. Normally, he would have ordered a servant to draw him and Chevalier a bath, but it had been too late at night and, with all the uproar, he doubted he would have found a servant anyway. The halls of Versailles would be empty, save for soldiers and guards.

Chevalier shifted in his sleep. His hand, which had previously lain on top of Philippe’s stomach, now moved underneath his head. Even as he slept, Philippe could see vanity in the man’s face. He was handsome and he knew it, and he was smarter than he let on. It was why Louis disliked him so intensely. He hadn’t yet seen past Chevalier’s façade. He believed Chevalier to be thick.

Louis.

Philippe rubbed his eyelids with the palms of his hands and a plethora of colours exploded before him. His brother lay in his bed at the moment, sleeping, as if nothing had happened. How could he pretend nothing had happened? Or perhaps he lay awake, just as he lay awake. Had he seen the faces of the men trying to kill him? Had he seen how guards had cut them down? They wouldn’t have been killed, though. That was never the goal. No, Fabien Marchal was most likely interrogating the poor bastards right now, torturing them, extracting information. Though they probably knew very little. Their deaths would be pointless.

Philippe slipped out of bed and pulled a robe around his naked shoulders. He lit a candle and didn’t make a sound as he walked around the bed. Chevalier slept on, un-disturbed. There were no guards in the narrow passageways, built between the walls of the palace. These were the halls nobles used to get from one bedchamber to another, one they shouldn’t actually be in. Philippe hadn’t used them before. There had been no need. During the first few months they had resided in Versailles, Chevalier always came to him. Later, he hadn’t bothered to move in secrecy anymore. Everyone knew he warmed Philippe’s bed.

Louis slept in the western wing of the palace, so by the time he reached his bedroom, Philippe’s feet were cold. He also regretted not having cleaned up. He could still smell Chevalier on him, but perhaps Louis wouldn’t. Unafraid, Philippe pushed open the door to his brother’s bedroom and walked inside.

Bontemps, always by the king’s side, the ever-loyal valet, rose from the make-shift bed he slept in.

Louis pushed himself into a sitting position, too. His blue eyes seemed even lighter in the faint light the candle produced. “Some privacy, Bontemps,” Louis said.

Bontemps nodded and left the room. The doors closed behind him with a definitive sound.

There was no one around anymore, just him and his brother. Philippe set the candle down on the nightstand beside Louis’ bed and sank down on the mattress. One knee was bent underneath his body and his back was as straight as an arrow. “You confided me to my rooms,” he didn’t know why he spoke those words of all the words currently shifting inside his mind.

Louis stared at him, shadows playing across his face. “I did,” he said. “I knew you would be safe there.”

“You didn’t confide me to them last time there was an attack.”

“Circumstances have changed.” Louis always did have a reply ready.

“Do explain.”

“You know how they have changed.”

With only a robe covering his naked body, Philippe threw one leg across his brother’s thighs. His hand carded through his long brown hair and when he shifted his weight until he straddled his brother’s lap, he could feel the quickening of Louis’ breath. “Like this, you mean?” He asked, innocently.

Every muscle strained just underneath Louis’ skin. “Don’t toy with me.”

“I’m not.” Philippe rolled his hips and, to his satisfaction, felt his brother’s growing hardness. He was dressed in nothing but a cotton sleeping shirt. It hung loosely around his lean body. “Kiss me.”

Louis did, instantly and without question. His hands cupped Philippe’s face, but Philippe was in no mood to take it slow, to be gentle and sweet, not after what Louis had done to him. “You locked me out,” he breathed in between kisses. His hands travelled down Louis’ chest and lifted up his shirt. “Don’t ever lock me out again.”

Louis raised his arms, and Philippe rid him of his sleeping shirt. “I promise,” he was short of breath and his pupils were dilated. His skin felt white-hot. Philippe recognized all the signs of unabated lust. “Next time, I’ll send for you.”

 _Next time_. Men will always come and try to kill him. Philippe’s vision darkened around the edges, anger sweeping in and taking hold of his heart. His hands curled around Louis’ arms, holding on tightly. He might leave bruises on his pale skin. “I hate that they wish to hurt you.” His eyes fluttered shut when Louis’ hand stroked his exposed thighs. “I wish to hurt them back.”

“Fabien Marchal is taking care of that,” Louis said.

Philippe smiled cruelly. “That makes me feel so much better.”

He found himself on his back suddenly, Louis’ hands pressing against his shoulders, keeping him down. “And how am I supposed to feel, dear brother of mine?” Louis questioned. There was venom in his words. “You come to me, slip into my bed, smelling of another man.”

Philippe’s heart beat in his throat. “Then change it.”

Louis tore the robe away from him, leaving them both naked. Last time he had seen his brother naked, they had been only children. They had been innocent. Now he noticed the curves of Louis’ body and they left Philippe breathless. His hands travelled down Louis’ bare chest until they felt the soft hair above his length. “Will you fuck me?” His fingers curled around his throbbing cock. “Please fuck me.”

“ _Philippe_.”

He spread his legs, obscenely so, and moaned when Louis settled between them. “Go on, do it.” His own cock leaked onto his lower stomach. Philippe rolled his hips, their lengths rubbing together, and his entire body spasmed with pleasure. “I’m still open,” he said, seducing. “Still slick.” _From Chevalier._

Louis buried his face in the crook of his neck and sucked a bruise into the skin there. Philippe turned his head away, giving his brother all the access he needed.

“You like to talk dirty,” Louis said. His voice sounded low. Guttural.

“You don’t?”

“Ask me again.” Louis leaned his weight on his hands and stared down at his younger brother. His hair began to stick to the sides of his face.

“Please fuck me.” Philippe arched his back off of the bed, until their torsos pressed together. “I beg you, Your Majesty, let me be one of your lovers and take me. Do with me as you please.”

“I like to hear you beg like this,” Louis grinned.

“But you dwell too long.” Philippe surged upward and switched their positions again. Louis didn’t seem to mind. On the contrary; a pleased laugh left him and pre-come dripped from the tip of his length. Philippe shivered at the sight of it. He wanted to lavish it with attention, wanted to take him into his mouth and taste what a king tasted like, but right now, he had different plans. He didn’t have the patience. With one hand, Philippe guided Louis to his entrance and lowered his weight. He groaned at the burn it produced. Philippe never let Chevalier take him without proper preparation, but again; patience, he lacked it.

Once Louis was deep inside of him, Philippe paused. He needed a moment to catch his breath and savour this moment. His brother, the king, lay beneath him, panting because of him, and no matter how wrong it felt, it still felt deliciously good. Not right. _Good_. Slowly, Philippe began rocking back and forth, his weight shifting with a steady rhythm.

Louis’ nails dragged down Philippe’s skin, leaving red lines on his chest. Philippe let his head fall back and closed his eyes. Desperation urged him to move faster. He leaned forward, hands locking onto the wood of the bed-frame. His movements grew faster, frantic, and when Louis curled a hand around his cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts, Philippe cried out.

“How do I feel?” He forced out.

“Tight.” Louis pushed himself up and wrapped his arms around Philippe’s waist. His teeth sunk into Philippe’s collarbone. “Forbidden.” Louis trailed kisses up Philippe’s neck. “Eve’s apple in Eden’s garden.”

“You do know–” Philippe’s movements grew even more frantic, the slapping of skin against skin lewdly loud, “–what happened to Eve after she bit from the fruit, don’t you?” With each thrust Louis gave, Philippe felt his cock rub against his stomach. He wasn’t going to last long.

“It was fate.”

Louis came with a breathless sigh, head tilted back and his entire body shuddering as the orgasm wrecked him. Philippe felt his warmth fill him, slicking the way, and he followed not long after. His hands gripped Louis’ shoulders, desperately searching for an anchor to hold him down, and his breath caught inside his lungs. Louis’ lips against his cheek brought him back to the present.

Philippe let himself fall sideways, out of Louis’ arms, head landing elegantly on top of the pillow. He was breathing hard and fast, and so was his brother. Louis still sat upright, one hand against the mattress for support. His skin glistened with a thin layer of sweat and cum.

“Fate. Is that really what you think?”

Slowly, calculated, Louis’ gaze fell on him. “What do you want me to think?”

“We all know who seduced Eve,” Philippe replied as he stared into Louis’ light eyes, unblinking. “It wasn’t fate.”

“A serpent.”

“The devil.”

Louis laid down and sighed. He was no longer looking at his brother and it was too dark to read the thoughts in his mind. Philippe wished he could see the lines of Louis’ face, could see what emotion filled him, good or bad. “You came to me,” he said after a short silence. “You crawled into my bed and asked me to kiss you.”

Philippe swallowed heavily. “Perhaps I am the devil then.”

A moment passed, a moment where anything could happen, any answer could be given. Philippe felt tension creep inside his muscles. Louis rolled onto his side and placed a hand against Philippe’s chest, where his heart was still beating rapidly against his ribs. “You overthink this,” he said. “Sleep now. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

Philippe closed his eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a few words in Spanish, but I don't have any knowledge of the language, so if there are mistakes, feel free to tell me! :)
> 
> Thank you, Greenloki, for editing this for me!

# 10

A door burst open. Philippe had been on the verge of falling asleep, caught in that blissful moment when you were still awake, but no thoughts sounded inside your head anymore. Caught in that moment before the first tendons of a dream gripped you tight and pulled you under. That moment disappeared instantly when a collection of footsteps rushed into the king’s bedroom.

 “Out!” Louis shouted. “Now!”

Philippe pressed his face into the pillow and held his breath. He lay on his stomach, his hair a mess, and the sheets of the bed covering only the bottom part of his body. At least there was only one candle burning in the room. Shadows hid him, but Philippe refused to take the risk of being seen. He didn’t move, not even as Louis sat up, obscuring him from whoever had entered.

“I was speaking to you, too,” Louis said. The volume of his voice had lowered, but the anger lacing his words was still very much present. “Leave.”

Philippe listened very carefully. He’d heard the closing of the door, so it was safe to assume that Bontemps and the guards who had stormed inside had left again. They would never dare to disobey such a direct order from their king, but there was still one person left. He heard heavy, frustrated breathing – a woman’s. She had to be someone important, but it wasn’t Henriette. She would never burst into Louis’ chamber like this. It lacked tact.

“No.” A heavily accented voice. Marie-Thérèse, the queen.

Philippe’s heart sank.

“There was an attempt on your life, but you did not think it necessary to visit me afterwards?” She sounded furious, each word clipped. “You did not think it important to assure me you were unharmed? I waited for you!”

“As you can see,” Louis said, “I am perfectly fine.”

“I can see that indeed.” Marie-Thérèse scoffed. “I should have known to find you in bed with one of your mistresses. Who is it tonight? Madame de Montespan?” She took a step forward – Philippe could hear by the ticking of her shoes. “You insult me, Your Majesty, while I am your wife.”

“I will make it up to you another time.” Louis pulled the sheets of the bed higher up their bodies. “Now I want you to leave. That is a direct order and you should obey it.”

“That is not Madame de Montespan,” Marie-Thérèse said. Philippe could hear confusion in her voice. “That is a man. Since when do you lay with men?”

Moving felt impossibly difficult, as if a heavy weight pressed down on his limbs, but Philippe managed to push himself up and look at the queen of France. He looked at her over Louis’ shoulders and knew that she could see him all too clearly despite the poor light coming from the one burning candle on the nightstand.

Marie-Thérèse gasped. Shocked. Her hands darted up to cover her parted lips. “Ay díos mio,” she whispered. Her eyes stood wide and tearful. Her gaze switched between older and younger brother. “You are depraved,” she said, a tremor to her voice and body. “You will burn for this, in hell.” Then she fled from the room.

For one brief moment, Philippe expected Bontemps to return, to check if his master was alright, but the door to Louis’ bedroom remained firmly shut. The silence between them felt lethal, too toxic to breathe in, so Philippe didn’t breathe at all. Until Louis looked at him, his gaze covered with shadows from his eyelashes.

“You shouldn’t have moved.”

Only now did Philippe realize that he had clenched his hands together so tightly that his nails were breaking skin. He forced himself to relax and welcomed the sharp pain he felt. “She would have seen me eventually.”

Louis’ eyes fluttered shut and, for one second, Philippe thought he recognized panic. “She won’t tell anyone,” he said. Whether he was trying reassure himself or his brother, Philippe did not know. “It would bring shame upon herself. The people would not believe her anyway. Who _would_ believe this?”

Philippe thought he was going to be sick. Pushing the sheet away from his naked body, he stepped out of bed. The coolness of the tiles beneath his bare feet actually helped him push away the nausea. “Yes, who _would_ believe the king and his brother to be so debauched they share the same bed?” He pressed a hand to his stomach. He was going to be sick after all. “You heard what she said. We will burn in hell for this.”

“Philippe, stop.”

He spun around and faced his king with heated eyes. His hands felt clammy, a thin layer of sweat covering his skin, and this time it had nothing to do with lust or wanton. He had not felt this afraid since he had been a little boy frightened of the monster underneath his bed. “Who seduced Eve in the garden of Eden?” His voice didn’t sound like his own. It was too high. “We were foolish to believe God would turn a blind eye.”

“ _Stop_.”

“I cannot.” He no longer felt strong enough to remain standing upright, but he did so by sheer will alone. He stared at his brother and felt tears prick the corners of his eyes. “Maybe it’s not too late yet to save our souls.” He truly believed that. “We can repent. God is merciful.”

“I want this and you want this,” Louis tried.

“And that should be enough.” Philippe smiled sadly. His heart was breaking. “You are the king and you always get what you want, but there is still one being more powerful than you. Maybe He is smiling down upon you right now, but that’s not the case for me. I’m not a king, Louis. I’m merely a king’s brother.”

Louis stepped out of the bed, too. He approached him and took a hold of Philippe’s hands. “And you are under my protection.” He squeezed Philippe’s hands, the gesture meant to calm him, to assure him, but Philippe still felt sick to his stomach. He pulled his hands free and stepped back. “Brother, please.”

“I refuse to be the serpent that gets you expelled from heaven,” Philippe whispered, heartbroken. He picked up the robe he’d worn as he’d slipped from Chevalier’s bed. “Goodnight, brother.” It pained him to turn around. It pained him to leave Louis standing, naked and alone by the bed, but it was the right thing to do. One of them had to think of their souls.

# 11

Before he crawled back into bed beside Chevalier, he threw up. Then he slept.

# 12

“No, not those books. Toss them out.” The servant girl took the books out of the trunk again and placed them back on top of the shelf. It would leave more room for clothes and shoes. Philippe returned his attention to the servant boy who was showing him different vests. “I want to take the maroon one with me, but not the purple one.”

His chambers were filled with servants. Philippe couldn’t count them on one hand and while the activity was giving him a headache, he endured patiently. This was necessary. He merely hoped his brother would understand. If he didn’t … Philippe didn’t allow his mind to travel into that direction.

“What about the silverware, Monsieur?”

“Leave it.” There was plenty of silverware at Saint-Cloud. Besides, he didn’t think Henriette would appreciate him taking everything. Or she might just allow him to take everything, as long as he didn’t take her. He wouldn’t, though, because then Louis would lock the gates and Philippe would be stuck here. Stuck in the Garden of Eden.

The door opened. Philippe turned and watched Chevalier halt in the doorway, confused. His light green eyes took in the servants bustling around and the trunks being filled with Philippe’s possessions. Philippe’s heart beat painfully fast.

Chevalier slowly entered the room, with narrowed eyes and calculated steps. “What is this?” He asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Philippe sighed heavily and felt his headache intensify. “I’m going home, to Saint-Cloud. Versailles is suffocating me and I must leave before it kills me.” Philippe stared at his lover standing in the middle of the activity, clearly out of his element. That didn’t happen often. Chevalier was like a chameleon, adjusting to everything and blending in everywhere.

“And it’s permitted?”

Philippe swallowed heavily. He became acutely aware of how quiet the servants around them had gotten. They kept their eyes down and continued working, but not a word was spoken anymore.

“My brother will let me leave if he wishes to save me.”

The lines of Chevalier’s face softened. Why, Philippe didn’t know. A heavy weight fell on his chest, making breathing near impossible.

Chevalier sighed. “Philippe–”

“Come with me.” He refused to let Chevalier finish that sentence. He refused to listen to him try and change his mind. Because he wouldn’t. Today was the day he would leave Versailles, one way or another, and not even the king of France could stop him. Philippe stepped forward and curled his hands around his lover’s. “Please come with me.”

“To Saint-Cloud?” Chevalier pressed his lips tightly together and sucked in a deep, sharp breath. “And leave Versailles.”

“I am asking a lot, I know,” Philippe started. The entire court was located between these extravagantly decorated walls, after all, which meant that there was power and wealth to be found here. Philippe loved Chevalier, with all his heart, but he wasn’t blind to his flaws. Chevalier lived for power and wealth. “So I will only ask you once. You are free to do as you like and, whatever your answer is, know that it won’t change my mind. Will you come with me to Saint-Cloud?”

For five long seconds, Chevalier stared into his dark chocolate brown eyes. What he was hoping to find in them, Philippe didn’t know. He stared back at him, unblinking, and hoped that Chevalier would see his determination. And possibly his desperation. Then Chevalier’s gaze slipped to the rest of the room, landing on different servants filling trunks with Philippe’s possessions.

“You there,” Chevalier said, loudly. A young servant girl, startled, spun around and quickly lowered his eyes to the floor. She clasped her hands behind her back. “Pack those books, too. The king’s brother likes to read them and I cannot entertain him every hour of every day.”

Philippe’s grip on Chevalier’s hands tightened. “Does that mean you will go with me?”

Chevalier smiled, broadly and radiantly. “Of course,” he said, and brought Philippe’s hands to his lips. He kissed the back of them, gently, lovingly. “I go where you go, darling.”

# 13

He knew Chevalier was bored out of his mind. They had been in Saint-Cloud for a little over three weeks now and Philippe felt at ease, felt peace return to his soul, while Chevalier seemed to be losing his mind. They sat in the garden, on a blanket spread out onto the grass, with a glass of wine in their hands. Summer was slowly turning into autumn, which meant the temperatures were lovely warm, but there was already a cool breeze in the air.

“We could go riding tomorrow,” he proposed, gazing down at Chevalier who lay on his back, eyes closed as he enjoyed the warmth of the sun.

“You do owe me a ride,” Chevalier said without opening his eyes.

It was true. He’d promised to go riding with him one evening, but then assassins had entered the palace and Philippe had sunken so low he’d feared he’d lost his soul. “Tomorrow then,” he said, and took a sip from his wine. “And after we can bathe in the river.”

That had Chevalier crack open one eye. “I do believe the water is rather chilly.”

“Yes,” Philippe grinned. “Imagine what chilly water will do to our bodies.”

“You are an absolute tease!” Fully awake again, Chevalier propped himself up onto one elbow and plucked a grape from the bunch. He brought it to Philippe’s lips, and Philippe gladly opened his mouth. “With the risk of spoiling your good mood,” he continued, “when do you think we’ll return to Versailles?”

Philippe slowly chewed the grape.

“Understood.” Chevalier dropped back down and closed his eyes again.

“I know you’re–”

“It’s alright.” Chevalier rested his head onto one arm and brought his glass of wine to his lips. His entire posture screamed blitheness – which was exactly why Philippe knew Chevalier didn’t feel cheerful at all. “You need distance between yourself and the palace. I understand.”

Philippe sighed and pulled his knees up to his chest. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” he said. He balanced his glass of wine on his left knee. “Life at court is where you thrive, what you’re good at. I simply wish I was at good at it as you are.”

“Darling.” Chevalier didn’t move from where his lay, but he pressed one hand against Philippe’s lower back. His fingers massaged his skin there. “I said I understood. I wasn’t lying. Besides, I do enjoy spending time with you without the prying eyes of others, without having to share you.”

For one brief moment, a claw moved around Philippe’s heart. “I am very much aware of the fact that you dislike Henriette,” he forced out.

“Henriette, yes.” Chevalier sat back up. He set his glass aside and slipped his hand underneath Philippe’s clothes. “You know; the river isn’t too far from here. How about we go for a swim right now?”

Philippe smiled and pressed a kiss against Chevalier’s lips. “I think that is a lovely idea.”

# 14

“Don’t you dare!”

Philippe laughed and pushed Chevalier into the water anyway. The blond man shrieked, like a girl, much to Philippe’s delight who could barely contain himself. “You pushed me first,” he said between bursts of laughter. “I believe our Indian friends would call this karma.”

After a short moment of clumsy floundering, Chevalier found his footing and stood, the water reaching his chest. Water dripped from his hair onto his face and shoulders. “I never liked our Indian friends,” he pouted, and wringed the water from his hair.

Philippe sat on the edge of the river-bank, his feet wading through the cold water. “That’s because you loathe their sense of fashion.”

Chevalier made his way toward him and, after Philippe parted his knees, stepped in between them. His hands came to rest on Philippe’s naked thighs. They wore nothing but a thin linen shirt. The rest of their clothes lay a short distance away, where they wouldn’t get wet.

“It is too colourful.”

Philippe hummed. “Have you seen your own wardrobe?”

Chevalier smacked the side of Philippe’s knee. “Don’t insult my wardrobe.”

Feigning hurt, Philippe leaned back, until a pair of hands suddenly pulled him forward, into the water. He hated to admit that his shriek was as high as Chevalier’s had been earlier. Chevalier’s hands gripped him tightly, so they wouldn’t slip, while his lips crashed against Philippe’s.

“Remind me to insult your wardrobe more often,” Philippe grinned.

They swam and kissed for another hour, until the sun was beginning to set. Then they had to return to the mansion. It wasn’t Versailles after all. It wouldn’t light up in the distance like a nest full of fireflies. They got dressed and climbed back onto their horses. They raced back to Saint-Cloud and by the time they arrived, their hair had dried in the wind.

They approached the mansion via the garden, the reigns of their horses in hand. Philippe looked forward to the rest of the day. Dinner would be served soon and since he felt quite hungry, he knew he would enjoy it thoroughly. Then he and Chevalier would spend the rest of the evening in the privacy of their bedroom. A shiver ran down his spine as he imagined Chevalier’s hands on his body, as he imagined tasting him and spoiling him.

“Whatever is on your mind, I like it,” Chevalier whispered into his ear.

Philippe halted, cheeks flushing red. “How can you know what is on my mind?”

“It involves you and me and nakedness,” Chevalier said, chin lifted into the sky, cocky. “Whenever you get those thoughts, a mysterious smile plays around your lips.” With his thumbs, he traced the outlines of Philippe’s lips.

Philippe had to refrain himself from sucking it into his mouth and biting down on it. “Maybe I was just thinking about your colourful wardrobe.”

Chevalier lowered his hand and a playful scowl filled his face. “Stop it.”

Philippe laughed.

They began walking again, between the late blooming flowers and short trimmed grass. Philippe thought of Jacques and wondered what he would change in this garden if he could. Would he plant more trees? More flowers? Would he create a pond between the bushes? Philippe had always wanted a pond. He should ask Louis to borrow the gardener for a week.

“Monsieur?”

Philippe halted and turned. A man approached and, in the quickly fading daylight, he recognized him. He had seen him in the stables before. Henri was a middle aged man who had fought in the war for his king and country. He’d lost two fingers on each hand and a part of his nose. He’d been lucky not to have lost his eyes, too. If he had, he could never have worked in the stables. He could never have worked again.

“Henri, what can I do for you?”

“He can take the horses with him,” Chevalier said. “Then we can head straight to the dining table. I am starving.”

“So is the rest of France,” Henri said.

Chevalier looked as if he’d been slapped across the face.

Philippe frowned when he noticed the slight tremor to Henri’s hands, the light sheen of sweat on his brow. The older man looked terrified. “Calm down, Henri, and tell me what is wrong. Maybe I can help.”

“Your brother makes void promises. We are sick of them.”

It wasn’t until it was too late that he spotted the glimmer of metal in Henri’s hand. Philippe tried to take a step back, tried to warn Chevalier, but Henri’s hand shot forward and pain flashed through his stomach. Philippe gasped, but found that no air reached his lungs.

“Philippe!” Chevalier screamed.

When he pressed a hand to his stomach, Philippe found it warm and wet.

“Know that your brother is next,” Henri said. “Vive la France!” He threw the knife aside and ran off.

Chevalier rushed to Philippe’s side and wrapped his arms around his body, preventing him from crashing to the ground. Philippe couldn’t stay on his feet anymore, though. Strength was already leaving him. Chevalier followed him down to the grass and pulled him as close as he possibly could. The green grass was already colouring red beneath them.

“Philippe.” Chevalier’s voice cracked.

“The king …” He couldn’t speak anymore. When he tried, he coughed up blood. Philippe spit it out. His hands clung to Chevalier’s vest, needing him to listen, to _not_ panic. “Send a message …” More blood, “… to the king.”

“Guards!” Chevalier screamed. “Help us!”

“My love …”

“Hush, Philippe.” Chevalier’s hand pressed against the wound near his stomach. Philippe groaned as the pain grew and spread through the rest of his body. The edges of his vision darkened, but he stayed focused on Chevalier. He knew the consequences of losing consciousness. He might never wake again. “Save your strength.”

If his fate was to die for his brother, then he would have accepted that. He had been prepared to die for him on the battlefield. He would take a bullet for him or fall off of a cliff for him if that meant he would live, but not like this. He refused to die like this. “Stay … with me …” His grip on Chevalier’s vest faltered.

“I wouldn’t dare leave you,” Chevalier said.

Footsteps thundered closer.

“Philippe …” Because that was Chevalier’s real name; Philippe of Lorraine. He was actually three years younger than him, but no one ever guessed. With his dark hair and even darker eyes, people always assumed him to be younger than he actually was. They always assumed him to be weaker, too, but that might have to do with the fact that his brother was the king. “My love …”

“I will send for Claudine,” Chevalier said. His words were broken and tears slipped down his cheeks. Somehow, blood had gotten onto his neck. Philippe’s blood. “She will save you, like she has saved the queen.”

Philippe wanted to reply, wanted to tell him that he believed him, but when he parted his lips to speak, no sound left him. Only blood. Darkness consumed him, along with pain, and the last thing Philippe was aware of was the fact that Chevalier wouldn’t let him go, not even as guards lifted him off of the now wet grass to take him inside.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is; the final chapter! I hope you all enjoy it!

# 15

“He should be at Versailles.”

Philippe knew that voice. He could recognize it anywhere – in a ballroom filled with hundreds of nobles, dancing and laughing, or on a battlefield, surrounded with soldier fighting to survive canon shots. But the voice sounded far away and Philippe had to strain in order to hear it.

“Moving him could kill him.” A female’s voice. “If he bleeds again, he will bleed to death.” Claudine. Philippe felt a rush of relief crash into his body, and it hurt strangely enough. Or perhaps with returning consciousness, pain returned alongside it. He couldn’t really tell the different at the moment.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t driven him away.” Chevalier.

Philippe smiled when he heard that voice – or he wanted to smile. His body wasn’t yet reacting to his will. Moving was out of question, his limbs feeling impossibly heavy, as if the weight of the ocean was pushing them down.

“That’s your king you are addressing,” said an outraged man – Bontemps. Of course the valet would be at the king’s side. Philippe wanted to pry open his eyes and see the expression on the man’s face, but even his eyelids felt too heavy to move.

“It’s alright, Bontemps,” Louis said.

“Will you all,” his eyes may not open and his limbs may be too heavy to move, but his voice worked, which was a relief, “stop fighting? You’re giving me a headache and–” he needed to pause, to suck in a deep breath and will away the pain burning his stomach, “–I can miss more ache at the moment.”

Someone sat down on the edge of the bed – Philippe lay in a bed; he could tell by the softness below and above him. A hand held his, slightly larger than his, and warmer. “Will you open your eyes, darling?” Chevalier sounded soft and sweet. Concerned. Philippe hadn’t heard his voice like that before.

It cost him a lot of energy, but he blinked open his eyes. His vision was hazy and too much light streamed into the bedroom through the window, but he forced them open anyway and looked around the room. Chevalier sat beside him and Claudine was pouring him a glass of water. She set it to his lips and held his head as he drank. The coolness of the water easily slid down his throat and eased the burn to his stomach. He sent her a grateful smile.

Bontemps stood by the door, hands folded behind his back and half a smile covering his face. He looked happy to see him. But Philippe’s attention quickly shifted to the figure standing by the window. Why did Louis have to stand by the window? The sunlight hurt his eyes. Philippe stared at him, though, and felt tension coil in his muscles when Louis stared right back.

“You frightened me, brother,” the king said.

Philippe wished he didn’t sound so formal.

“He frightened us all,” Chevalier said.

“Henri–” It was a mistake to try and push himself up. Pain shot through his lower abdomen and Claudine’s hands instantly pushed him back down onto the mattress. A sour taste filled his mouth.

“You mustn’t move, Monsieur,” she warned.

“Apparently so,” Philippe forced out when he’d found his breath again. He sucked in deep breaths and forced away the nausea. “But tell me, have you caught Henri, the gardener?” He only had eyes for his brother, despite Chevalier’s burning gaze on him, despite his hand tightly squeezing his own.

“They arrested him in Paris, along with three others,” Louis explained. “Fabien is with them.”

It should please him to know that the man who had tried to kill him was suffering a fate much worse than his. It should please him to know that Fabien Marchal was extracting all the information Henri knew, and thus kept the king safe. But it didn’t. Philippe had seen the look on the man’s face, seconds before he had used a knife on him. He had recognized the fear in his eyes, and desperation.

“The people are unhappy.”

“You shouldn’t worry about the people right now,” Chevalier said. “That’s the king’s task.”

Louis nodded. “For once, your lover is right.”

“I’m told not to care about anything or anyone, but I refuse to listen anymore.” Philippe pressed a hand against his stomach and felt thick bandages there. His surroundings never truly came into focus. “Something needs to be done or next time they plan an attack you will be dead.”

“Something will be done,” Louis said, anger lacing his voice.

“And what would that be?”

“Your Majesty, please.” Claudine addressed the king with a strong voice, and Philippe admired her for it. She took a step toward Louis and sought eye-contact. Truly, Philippe now understood why his brother liked her so much. It was a mystery why she didn’t share his bed yet. Or perhaps she did? No, Philippe concluded, Claudine didn’t seem like the kind of woman easily seduced, not even by her king. “Your brother needs to rest, Your Majesty. He is still too weak to conduct these kinds of discussions.”

“She is right,” Philippe sighed. He closed his eyes and, when he allowed it, all the sounds around him already dimmed. He had to fight to stay awake. “I am very tired.”

“And in a great deal of pain,” Claudine added.

He smiled weakly. “Yes, that, too.”

“Then we shall let you rest.” Chevalier shuffled a little closer and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. Philippe wanted to return the kiss, wanted to be engulfed by Chevalier’s warmth, if only for a moment, but he felt too tired. “You’ll feel stronger tomorrow already, my love.”

Philippe managed a small nod. “I hope so.”

# 16

Finally, he had managed to escape from the overly concerned Claudine. She refused to leave his side, claiming that she needed to stay close in case his wound started bleeding again, but Philippe suspected that his brother had more to do with it. Had he threatened her? He wouldn’t be surprised if he had. He’d be more surprised if Claudine did indeed feel intimidated by Louis, because she didn’t seem like the kind of woman who was easily frightened. Then again, Louis _was_ the king of France. Perhaps he had threatened her life if something were to happen to him. Still, it wouldn’t be her fault. He’d already tried telling her that, but she had still refused to leave his side, so he had been left with only one option; escape.

The walking cane he used ticked so loudly against the stones of the floor, making him believe that he hadn’t actually lost Claudine at all. He believed that she merely granted him more space, if only for a moment. In any case, he felt relieved. He was getting tired of all the overprotectiveness, and while everyone meant well, they were suffocating him.

Even as he made his way through the mansion, four guards trailed after him. Those he couldn’t lose, no matter how hard they tried.

His brother was in the south area of the house, in the study, sitting behind a desk, with Colbert and Louvois standing before him. Philippe didn’t know what they were discussing, nor did he care. The affairs of the state usually interested him, but not today, not as more pressing matters occupied his mind – like those four guards following him around like dogs. At the sound of his cane ticking against the floor, announcing his presence, Colbert and Louvois turned around and produced a polite, but well-meant smile at the sight of him.

“Ah, Monsieur, it is good to see you walking around,” Colbert said as he inclined his head. It was the proper thing to do while addressing the brother of the king.

“Thank you.” Philippe walked further into the study and sat down opposite his brother, one hand pressing against the wound near his stomach. With Claudine’s herbal mixtures, the pain was manageable, but still very much there. The constant ache was exhausting. Philippe released a heavy breath and wondered exactly how pale he looked. “A word, brother, in private?”

Louis nodded. “Some privacy, gentlemen.”

To Philippe’s satisfaction, Colbert and Louvois bowed their heads and left immediately, as did those four guards he hadn’t been able to lose since he’d woken up fifteen days ago. They closed the door on their way out. For the first time, Philippe felt like he could breathe more easily, which was a ridiculous notion, he was well aware, but it was still true.

“You look terrible,” Louis started, unabashed. “Why are you out of bed?”

“Because staying in bed was driving me absolutely insane.” Philippe let his head fell back, letting it rest against the back of the chair he sat in, and closed his eyes. With his thumb and pointer finger, he rubbed his brow. A thin layer of sweat covered his skin, and he realized that perhaps he should have stayed in bed, perhaps he should be resting, but then he would have lost his mind entirely, especially with so many eyes constantly on his body. “Claudine is driving me insane, brother.” He opened is eyes again. “Can you please tell her to stop hovering above me like I am a small child who caught polio?”

Louis’ gaze was unwavering as he stared at Philippe. “She has a job and she is performing it,” he said. “I am very satisfied with her work.”

“I’m not dying anymore,” he all but snapped. Philippe leaned forward ever so slightly, as far as his stomach permitted it, and gazed directly into Louis’ bright blue eyes, wanting him to see his stubbornness. “Nor is my life at risk anymore, so you can tell those guards to back off, too.” At Louis’ raised eyebrows, Philippe added a quick, “Please.”

Louis sighed. “I’m merely looking out for you. That is my job and, so far, I have failed grandiosely.”

“You haven’t failed, Louis. No one could have stopped the attack.” Philippe produced a small, but warm smile, hoping to reassure his brother. “I appreciate your concerns, but they are not necessary.”

“The guards put my own mind at peace,” Louis said. One hand lay motionless in his lap and his other on top of the desk. His fingers ticked rhythmically against the dark wood, betraying his restlessness. Philippe despised seeing him like this. As king of France, he had enough concerns weighing down on him. He shouldn’t have to worry about his brother, too. “I’d feel better if we were at Versailles, though. I can offer you better protection there.”

“Are you asking me to return to Versailles with you?”

“Yes,” Louis said, without missing a beat. He rose from behind the desk and knelt down in front of him. For one brief moment, Philippe forgot that Louis was king – _his_ king. If he wanted to, he could forget he was his brother, too. Especially as Louis placed one hand on Philippe’s knee and brought the other to his cheek. His touch was warm and welcoming, and Philippe’s eyes fluttered shut, his mind already running in so many different directions, so he reminded himself, again and again, that he could not be the serpent who got Louis expelled from heaven. “I should never have allowed you to leave,” Louis whispered.

“I needed to.” Eyes opening again, Philippe reached up and took a hold of his brother’s hand. He pulled it away from his face, but kept holding onto it. “The temptation was simply too much, but I believe I can handle it now.” He pressed a kiss against the back of his brother’s hand before lowering it into his lap. “I am stronger now.”

Louis’ hand squeezed Philippe’s knee. “What if I am not?”

“Don’t worry, brother,” Philippe smiled. “I can be strong for the both of us.”

# 17

After leaving his brother, Colbert and Louvois entered the study again, while those four guards instantly began following him around once more. Philippe was forced to accept that that wouldn’t change, not as long as they remained in Saint-Cloud. Retreating to his bedchamber, he ordered the servants to begin packing. They would return to Versailles in three days’ time. That gave the servants three days to prepare and Philippe three days to gain more strength. He kept a close eye on the proceedings as he sat on the divan and told the servants what to pack and what not, and for once, he didn’t mind Claudine coming to check his bandages once every hour. When he told her he would be travelling back to Versailles soon, she raised one disapproving eyebrow, but she didn’t actually protest. He silently thanked her.

Chevalier didn’t come to help. Philippe glanced at the door every other minute, hoping it would open and Chevalier would enter, but only servants streamed in and out of the bedchamber. By the time the sun was setting behind the horizon and candles needed to be lit, half of the trunks had been filled, and Philippe ordered the servants to leave. He had become too tired to deal with noise and commotion. They would continue tomorrow morning.

He sat alone and in silence then, one hand curled around the top of his walking cane, his other hand resting against his stomach. Part of him wanted to call for Claudine and ask for a sleeping draft, but he didn’t want to crawl in bed before he’d seen Chevalier. Where was that man? Leaving the bedchamber was not an option. If he were to stand now, he would surely fall.

He could ask one of the four guards outside to go look for him, but then that would imply that he needed them, something he wished to avoid, because if Louis were to find out, he’d surely gloat about it. Claudine would be more discrete, he knew, but it wasn’t her task to run around the mansion, in search of a man because the brother of the king had asked it of her. A servant then? He’d already asked enough of them these past few days.

Just as he was about to give up, as he was about to stand and crawl into bed, alone, the door opened and a tall man with blond curls entered the chamber. Philippe’s heart fluttered at the sight of him, a smile curving the edges of his lips upward, but that smile instantly vanished when he noticed the intensity in Chevalier’s eyes. He didn’t understand.

“Are you angry with me?” Philippe hated the fragility of his voice.

Chevalier released a heavy breath and sank down beside him on the divan. His hand reached out to take his, a gesture which heartened Philippe, but only slightly. “I should have come sooner,” Chevalier said. His thumb caressed the inner side of Philippe’s wrist. “I heard we are to return to Versailles soon.”

His confusion only grew. “I thought you’d be pleased?”

Chevalier nodded. “Part of me is,” he said thoughtfully. Philippe didn’t see this kind of Chevalier a lot, and it concerned him. It frightened him. “I miss my life at court. I miss all the gossiping and the flamboyant feasts, but I also rather enjoyed our time here, just the two of us.”

“Me, too.” Philippe let his head rest on top of Chevalier’s shoulder and suppressed a shiver when Chevalier’s hand folded around his thigh. He wanted him to go further, to caress him, touch him, but he supposed they both knew that getting aroused would simply be painful to him. “But our king wants us back at Versailles.”

“He wants _you_ back at Versailles,” Chevalier corrected him. His hand suddenly tightened around Philippe’s thigh. “Does he want you back in his bed, too?”

His heart skipped a beat. Philippe couldn’t breathe.

“It’s alright,” Chevalier said softly.

“How can you say such a thing?” Philippe straightened his back, picking his head up from Chevalier’s shoulder, and stared at him with only incredulity in his dark brown eyes. Breathing was still near impossible and, every time he inhaled, it hurt. Tension coiled inside his muscles.

Chevalier’s features darkened. “Don’t lie to me, Philippe.”

With his teeth clenched together, he gritted out, “I won’t deny it, but how can you say it is alright? It is most certainly not!”

Chevalier angled his body toward Philippe and placed both his hands against his pale cheeks. He looked him right in the eyes, his light green eyes unblinking. “Calm down, darling,” He said. How he could stay calm and composed was beyond Philippe. He wanted to grab him and shake him and knock sense into him. “Before you faint.”

“But how–?”

“I saw you,” Chevalier said as if it were the easiest answer in the world. His hands dropped away from Philippe’s cheeks and toyed with the hem of his sleeve instead. “That night when assassins managed to enter the palace, I woke up and found the other side of the bed empty. I figured you had gone to see your brother and I imagined the two of you fighting, screaming at each other, as you often do. I thought I might be needed, that I might have to calm you down, so I went to the king’s bedroom, but I didn’t find you screaming.” He huffed out a humourless laugh, and Philippe wanted him to not make another sound at all. “You were doing something else entirely.”

“How can you still look at me?” His voice broke and his vision blurred because of the tears invading his eyes.

Chevalier glanced up and immediately reached out to wipe away the tears that had escaped him. “Darling, I hate sharing you, but the king gets what he wants.”

“The king is my brother.”

“Yes.” Chevalier exhaled slowly and nodded. Philippe would have liked to know his every thought, but for once, Chevalier seemed to lock them away carefully. Each word he spoke was well-weighed. It was very unlike him. “I love you, Philippe, and I don’t wish to lose you.”

“So you’d accept it?” Disbelief echoed in his voice.

“I would.”

“Then you’re a fool.” Pulling away, Philippe stood and leaned heavily upon the walking cane. He wished to sleep, to close his eyes and feel the entire world fade away around him. “God is punishing me for what I’ve done. His punishment began by taking away Henriette’s child and I don’t know when it will end. I’m afraid he’ll take you, too.”

Chevalier rose as well. “He’ll have to try very hard then.” He took a step forward, toward Philippe, and brushed a hand through his dark hair. “But I take it you are done warming the king’s bed?”

“Stop it,” Philippe hissed. “Stop making it less worse than it is. _The king’s bed_. Say it as it is, truthful and avowedly; my brother’s bed.”

Surprisingly, Chevalier didn’t even blink. “Fine,” he said with an air of nonchalance. There was the man Philippe had come to know, the man he’d fallen in love with. “Are you done warming your brother’s bed?”

It felt like a slap in the face, which he deserved – which he wanted. Eyes falling to the floor, he nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I’m done warming his bed. Am I still welcome in yours?”

Chevalier pressed his lips to the top of Philippe’s head. “I wouldn’t want you anywhere else,” he said softly.

# 18

Versailles looked less frightening, for some reason. Philippe stared up at the building, standing in the middle of the court yard, with Chevalier standing beside him. Nobles had gathered around them, to welcome the king and his brother back, but they had no attention for him, not with Louis already having disappeared inside the palace. Perhaps they would have stared at him had he still used the cane, but he stubbornly left it behind in Saint-Cloud, much to Claudine’s disapproval. But Philippe no longer needed it. If he began losing strength in his legs or feeling faint, he had Chevalier to lean on.

“Still pleased to have returned?” Chevalier asked, staring up at the rather imposing palace, too.

“Pleased, no,” Philippe said. With his hand curled tightly around Chevalier’s, as if afraid that the man would let go of him, Philippe began walking toward the entrance. “I’m not quite sure how I feel. A sense of trepidation fills me, I won’t deny that, because temptation lies behind those doors, but there is also ... hope.” He squeezed Chevalier’s hand. “You are with me and I know I am stronger with you by my side.”

Chevalier grinned. “Obviously,” he said obnoxiously.

Philippe rolled his eyes.

Guards opened to large, heavy doors for them. After Philippe entered, he paused and took a moment to inhale deeply. He’d always told Louis that Saint-Cloud was his home, but now he knew that to be a lie. Versailles was his home, for as long as Louis resided here. He would never tell his brother that, though.

“Ah,” Chevalier sighed dramatically, “It is good to be home.”

“Yes,” Philippe smiled, “It is.”


End file.
